


The Coming Of The Second Scourge

by TheHyperWriter



Series: Guardians Of Teufort Saga [2]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Fantasy, Gen, Like really slow, Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Plot Building, Slow To Update, Worldbuilding, slow pacing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28379445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHyperWriter/pseuds/TheHyperWriter
Summary: The lands of Teufort, 10 thousand years after the First Scourge, are at peace. Guarded by 9 gods who are (mostly) loved by the people, all mortals who live there can trust that they will have peace for many years to come.And the Primordial that started it all, Gray, the Master Of Worlds, has been defeated and locked away, his soul trapped under the weight of 9 great seals, each an embodiment of the powers of the 9 guardians.But the Master Of Worlds has been growing stronger.… the hour when he breaks his chains is now.
Series: Guardians Of Teufort Saga [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2078544
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	1. The 9 Seals Broken

**Author's Note:**

> After posting a AU concept that was particularly well-received (this one [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28029063/chapters/68664174).), I asked if I should write a fic about it and as it turns out people REALLY liked that idea. 
> 
> WELL IT'S FINALLY HERE!
> 
> I'll update when I can, but I can't update regularly because I'll be very busy next year.

_Gray felt the weight of the 9 seals loosen slightly. He focused more, feeling cracks form at that focal point. Lightning burst from the first seal as he pushed at it more and more. He was exhausted. But it wasn’t as bad as it was ten thousand years ago. Those 9_ **_weaklings_ ** _had trapped him — locked him away with the force of all their power. And it had worked, by the Primordials’ Eyes! How could 9 gods, when combined had only a mere fraction of his power, defeat him? The Master of Worlds?!_

_But luckily he had been strengthening himself. Ten thousand years worth of power should be enough to overcome his prison; if not completely wipe out the foolish 9 who call themselves “guardians”._

_He screamed at them that he will return sooner or later. But he ended up getting torn apart by that storm giant and that bird man’s disgusting dog children! The beasts had eaten his physical body! Disrespectful!_

_His rage gave him strength, and with a final cry, he unleashed a burst of energy that sent cracks through all 9 seals. He was almost there. Just a little more before he was free._

_Fire from one of the seals torched him, he felt the fangs of wolves and the talons of owls slash into him. The sensation of a thousand swords and daggers piercing his back tore through him as the seals cracked. Prongs of hot iron scorched his back, searing into his skin as magical darkness clouded his vision. It was a futile defense mechanism. This was nothing to any Primordial worth his salt._

_And he certainly was worth his salt, indeed._

_One more blast and the first and second seals fell in front of him. Then it took another blast to destroy the next two. Gray felt himself grow stronger. Finally, those years of work were paying off._

_In a last explosion of crackling energy, he shattered the final 5. He watched the pieces of what were once part of his prison rain down around him with a satisfied grin. He stretched himself a little before summoning a new body for himself: that of a small old man. He didn’t exactly care what he looked like, he only cared about getting the job done. But he figured his frail appearance would make people underestimate him._

_“Now… to work!” In a flash, he pulled iron from the rock around him, turning himself into a winged draconic beast, all covered in impenetrable metal plates. With a grating, metallic scream that echoed through the pit he was thrown into, he climbed up its walls, silver claws digging into the smooth stone that many wouldn’t have been able to climb._

_The Master of Worlds was free. He flew out of the pit’s mouth into the wastelands above him and let out a roar so loud it shook the mountains and the seas._

  
**_“Beware my return, Guardians of Teufort!”_ ** _He bellowed, his current massive form dwarfing the mountaintop he was perched on,_ **_“Your end is nigh! Surrender now, or face me and die!”_ **

* * *

Anton didn't feel right today.

The ground beneath his feet felt oddly unstable. It was like the Primordials were still around, shaking the earth. He felt uneasy and uncharacteristically scared. Maybe it was just the father in him thinking of his children if something really was wrong or maybe it was him being too paranoid; he _was_ the patron of thieves, after all, but he couldn’t shake off this feeling. 

He walked off in the direction he had initially been heading in, dread making his heart sink. His wife was at his place and he wanted to get back as soon as possible. He didn’t want to make her wait.

His fears were proven right, though, when he was knocked to the ground by an evident tremor. Out of instinct, he immediately shifted into the form of a sparrow to escape while he still could. He flew as fast as a tiny sparrow’s wings could carry him to Thunder Mountain, the only mountain that refused to be moved, and materialized into his masked humanoid form at the mountain's foot. He rested a little, catching his breath and taking time to adjust the mask over his face, which had gone askew in his desperation to land. He wasn’t as good of a flyer as someone like Mick, the Divine Hunter, who could transform into an owl and soar with ease on powerful wings. He sometimes found himself slightly jealous of his fellow god’s abilities. But no matter. Someone very big was behind him,

“Anton.” Came the deep, thundering voice of a familiar storm deity.

“Ah. Good day, Misha.” Anton said dismissively and faced the giant, having to crane his neck to look him in the eyes. 

“What is Anton here for? Is something wrong?”

The shapeshifter straightened and wiped dust off his fine robe, “I have discovered that the earth is shaking. I have a feeling that we may have to call everyone else to an emergency meeting.”

“Could just be earthquake?” Misha said

“I do not think it is an earthquake.” Anton sighed, “The tremors feel too strong--.”

He was cut off mid-sentence by the sound of shouting and the rush of air, before Ludwig, the winged god of medicine, crash-landed and stumbled into view, his wings and body battered from his messy landing. 

“ _Mein Kamaraden!_ Come quickly!” He screamed, lupine eyes wide with what Anton saw was fear and grief. 

“What has happened, doktor?” Misha had begun to follow Ludwig, gesturing for Anton to come along.

Anton walked behind, wondering why Ludwig was so worked up. The usually chipper, slightly eccentric healer deity was now a terrified wreck. He didn’t act like that unless something very bad must have happened.

That was when he saw it.

Bodies. Dozens of them. There were so many that they seemed to number in the hundreds. They littered the forest floor and were thrown up into the trees, where they hung limply from branches. Blood and entrails were scattered in the dirt, staining the grass red. It was like something had crushed them like ants, and that their bodies had just _popped_ from the impact. Looking closer, Anton saw they were corpses of animals: tiny white doves and huge grey wolves lay splayed out for all the world to see. Now he understood; these were Ludwig’s beloved servants, creatures that he made with pieces of his own soul. Anton would feel the same grief and despair too if he saw the disemboweled corpses of his own children. 

“I did not see what hit them!” Ludwig cried, “All I can tell you is that it was very huge!” 

“Perhaps you can tell me if you saw who did this?” He continued, face swiftly curling into an expression of wrath, “I’d enjoy eating his heart _straight from his writhing body._ ”

“No, doctor. I am quite sorry.” Anton said, sounding colder than he wanted to come across, “I was unfortunately not present.”

“No, doktor. Misha has seen nothing.”

Ludwig turned away. The grieving god's emotions were whipped up into a violent storm and he couldn't comprehend it all. A hunger for vengeance for his children's souls ate at his heart. Feeling tears prick at his eyes, he immediately shielded his face from view with one hand.

“Anyone who kills my children is to be punished.” He angrily pushed his index finger and thumb into his eyes to stop tears from falling. He was shaking from the force of his pent up fury, refusing to let his fellow gods see him cry. 

“Whoever did this _must die…!_ ” He growled. 

Anton wasn’t the sort to bother about his fellow gods’ plights, but this was something he could relate to in some form. Losing someone who was like family to you was bound to break your heart. 

“You will redeem your children. Once we find the ones that did this.” He said in an attempt to comfort him.

“But the question remains…” He continued, “ _Who would do this if they knew the consequences?_ ”

* * *

Mick watched his hunters rest by the stream, his owls circling overhead. The month’s glorious hunt had come to an end and the seasons were to change soon. They had to start preparing the forest for the winter before the breath of the Primordials brought snow into Teufort and covered everything with ice. 

The god stood at the top of a nearby hill in the evening sun, surveying the forest around him; occasionally glancing back at his hunters to see if they were alright. Among the trees, he noticed a flash of white, followed with flashes of greys and blacks. His sharp senses put two and two together, realising that the Wolf-Father had arrived with his children to hunt. 

He whirled around to face whomever was behind him with his bow notched and drawn. A white wolf, larger than the grey ones that paced behind him, stood before him. Its thick coat of fur looked grey at some angles as it was ruffled by the wind and its height ended at Mick’s shoulder; a noble-looking creature, one that looked worthy of belonging in a king's menagerie. The beast glared at him with deep amber eyes. Even when faced with the Father Of Wolves himself, Mick just stared back, keeping his expression neutral.

“Ludwig.” Mick gave a nod, “Hunting here again? Should have guessed.”

Those golden eyes remained on him, scrutinising him.

“We share the forests, Mick.” Ludwig’s voice was slathered thickly with the accent of the mortals in the Western Mountains, and sounded like a snarl, “You do know we had a pact? I will not-.”

“Look, just don’t touch my hunters and we’re in the clear.”

“I _was not saying_ that I was planning to do so!” At the sound of their master’s angry tone, Ludwig’s wolves snapped to attention and snarled, baring their fangs at Mick and pacing towards him. It only took a single glare from Ludwig to send them skittering back, whimpering with their tails between their legs.

The Wolf-Father sighed, “I am asking for… your permission to allow myself and my children to assist your hunters. My wolves were made to hunt just like your owls were.” He said, “I wanted to ask before I went on my way.”

“Wait… that’s all?” Mick let his surprise show, “If I find that you have any ulterior motives, my hunters will be wearing the pelts of your pack and holding your cut-off wings as trophies.”

“I swear on the Primordials that I have nothing else to ask!”

Mick turned and let his back face Ludwig to look back at his hunters. They were packing up to leave. 

“Fine, then. We have a deal. We’ll protect your wolves if you protect us.” He felt like he was saying something fatal. The Wolf-Father was not one to be trusted sometimes. 

In a rush of feathers, he leapt off the hill, brown feathers covering his body. Now in the form of an owl, Mick soared over his hunters and shrieked, calling them to attention. Looking back at Ludwig, he saw him turn and scamper off, his wolves trailing behind him.

As Mick led his hunters out of the area, he heard Ludwig’s familiar bellowing howl echo across the forest, followed by the cries of countless other wolves joining in the chorus; the Wolf-Father’s howl shook mortals and gods to the bone, leaving them awed and petrified all at once. It sent chills down his spine— the same feeling a roar of Misha’s thunder would give. 

He caught a current of wind and glided lower, flying close to his hunters. This was the life for him: the peace of the wilderness and the freedom of the hunt was what he lived for. 

But his ears picked up something odd in the air: it sounded something like a grating shriek, full of metal and fire; one of sheer rage. 

A sudden blast of wind strong enough to tear trees from their roots knocked him back, sending him crashing into the ground. When he hit the forest floor, he felt the earth shudder, like something huge had begun walking the land. His hunters froze, drawing their bows and warily glancing around, steadying themselves amid the tremors. As Mick recovered on the ground, another cry rang through the forest. It sounded heartbroken, first sounding like a wolf’s doleful howl before fading into a frenzied human scream, far louder than any mortal can make.

It was Ludwig. He sounded like he needed help.

Mick got back up and took to the air once more, commanding his hunters to follow. 

He had a promise to keep. And the Divine Hunter never broke his promises. 


	2. Regroup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been a WHILE! I didn't think I'd ever have time to get this up.
> 
> A quick warning: from here, the updates will get even slower, sadly, as I'm in my final school year and I'll get even less time to write as time goes on. 
> 
> Of course, I'll try to update as soon as I can. If I go silent for a month (or 4), rest assured that this fic isn't dead, but only sleeping.
> 
> Constructive feedback is appreciated!

Mick swooped through the forest, dodging trees, other birds and shrubbery to get to his destination. The smell of blood hung thickly in the air and only got stronger as he and his hunters moved forward through the mist and dark trees. They stopped at the edge of what looked like a deep, wide crater in replacement of what should have been endless forest. Mick could see that the dirt in the sinkhole was soaked with blood, turning the dirt and grass a reddish-brown. Countless corpses were scattered around: animals, judging by the look of them. It was like something giant had stomped on that part of the forest, leveling the trees and crushing them to splinters. Everything within that radius was reduced to a pulp. 

He remembered the scream he heard in the forest earlier — the angry, grating, high-pitched shriek, and a chill shot down his spine. He didn’t want to know what could make such a noise.

He landed in front of his hunters, reverting to his divine humanoid form and notching his bow. Keeping the arrow strung, he took a step into the crater, before breaking into a sprint down the crater’s steep side, making sure not to go too fast or else he’d be sent tumbling down the slope. His hunters followed close behind. He noted 3 familiar men in the distance - his comrades: Misha, Anton and Ludwig, standing amongst the corpses, which he could now see were the bodies of wolves and doves: Ludwig the Wolf-Father’s children. He swallowed back the bile in his throat and pushed himself to keep running. As the Divine Hunter, he’d seen some pretty gruesome things in his millenniums of life. But this was… surprisingly disgusting, even for him. And how the Wolf-Father’s children managed to get crushed like this was beyond him.

His hunters weren’t faring too well with the gruesome sight either. A few of the younger ones had thrown up the contents of their stomach on the blood-soaked ground while others looked sick. He stopped and called to them,

“Hey! You all gotta keep going, yeah? We can recuperate later!” 

They ran on, and slowly got closer to the little group in the middle of the chaos. Mick’s sharp ears picked up the voice of Anton, The Father of Lies:

“But the question remains… _who would do this if they knew the consequences_ \--”

He cupped his hands and hollered, probably cutting off Anton in the process,

“Oi! Over here!”

Mick and his hunters ran up to the group, pausing for a moment to catch their breaths. He bowed his head in greetings to his fellow gods, while his hunters swiftly kneeled to show their reverence for the Divine Hunter’s comrades. Two of the other gods, Misha and Ludwig, bowed back, merely out of respect and politeness. But Anton refused to do the same and kept his usual stiff, haughty air. 

Mick gave the god of lies no mind. 

He straightened and settled into a more casual posture. These men were his friends, after all. 

“Mates, what happened here?” He said, “Why all the bodies?”

Anton spoke first,

“Before you so _rudely_ interrupted me, Hunter, I was told that something had trampled Ludwig’s children.” His tone was clipped and bordering on being a little rude, as usual. This was the normal Anton everyone knew. 

“Yeah, I can see that already.” Mick said, “Kind of easy to connect the dots here.”

Ludwig cut in, 

“But have you seen what it was, _Herr_ Hunter?” He said, looking hopeful for a split second.

“Nah, mate. I _heard_ it.” 

Ludwig’s hopeful expression disappeared as fast as it came, replaced with a hardened glare.

Mick observed his friends’ faces as he began to describe what he had heard, weaving his words like fine cloth; the roar of a distant beast, something more powerful than they could ever imagine; the rush of wind after… 

He saw Anton grow progressively worried, his brow crinkling deeper as he spoke. Misha turned pale with fear, causing dark clouds to slowly roll across the sky above and thunder to rumble softly overhead. Ludwig turned into a wolf and started frantically sniffing the air for signs of danger, growling with fangs bared and amber eyes narrowed.

Mick’s heart was racing out of fear too. Even the mere thought of that noise managed to terrify him. The roar seemed so vivid in his mind’s eye now, as well as the tremors that had knocked him out of the air. He could hear the crushed trees around him whisper in their last moments of life. It was as if they were trying to tell him who killed them, but they were too weak to form words with their dying breaths.

“Call team here.” Misha said gravely after a long period of silence, “This is not good news.”

“Let us hurry, then.” Ludwig snarled, still in wolf shape, “I don’t think we have much time to lose.”

Mick scrambled for some sticks,

“We’ll summon Pyro. They’re the faster messenger.” He said, rubbing two twigs together until a spark was lit.

The fire smouldered, and slowly grew bigger without anyone having to tend to it. Everyone became transfixed by the dancing fire. Soon the flames were larger than the pile of sticks Mick had made. The fire shaped and bent itself into something vaguely humanoid, with legs and arms and a head. A featureless face with nothing else but a pair of large, empty white hot eyes stared back at them all. Intense heat radiated from the creature, manifesting in ripples through the air.

Pyro gave a cheery wave, and a muffled greeting in a language none of them understood. 

Misha was the first to step forward, unfazed by the scorching heat.

“Pyro, get team here.” He said, “Be quick.” 

Apparently that was all Pyro needed. They nodded in reply and snuffed out of existence, leaving nothing but the smoking embers of the bundle of sticks. 

Mick kicked dirt on the charcoal pile until the smoke thickened the air with the smell of burning blood and the fire went cold.

* * *

Dell sat in his workshop, welding together metals and stone for his newest contraption. He had a vague idea of what it was going to be. But nothing too fantastic yet. He picked up the blueprint he was slowly putting together and added a couple more measurements. He didn’t like making things up as he went. But sometimes, an idea was too good to let up. 

A quick knock on his workshop door broke his train of thought.

“Come in!” He said absentmindedly, too busy with his machines to really notice who was coming in. 

Then a little voice made him come to his senses, 

_“Dell! Emergency! Now!”_

“Pyro?” He shot up from his seat, “Is everythin’ alright?” 

The being made of glowing orange fire stood in the middle of the workshop, staring at him. For a moment, Pyro was silent, merely tilting their head curiously before speaking again. 

_“The other gods are calling for a meeting at the foot of Thunder Mountain. It’s an emergency.”_

Dell planted his palms on his desk, staring at the diagram-plastered wall in front of him. 

“Just _how bad_ is it?” He said. 

Pyro only said this in reply, 

_“_ **_He_ ** _has escaped.”_

Dell froze. He had a hunch he knew who Pyro was talking about. But his mind screamed that it was impossible. There was no way he could have broken out. The 9 seals were constructed to keep him pinned down. Forever. 

“Do the rest know?” He asked.

_“No. Only I know. I have seen the Master of Worlds. He is coming quickly and he is out for our blood.”_

“Then, why didn’t you tell them! They’re stuck not knowin’ what in the Sam Hill is goin’ on!” 

_“Dell, you forget they are not like you. They cannot speak the ancient tongues.”_

They were right. Dell always forgot not everyone could understand Pyro. He swept up his enchanted wrench and a few contraptions into his travel pack and headed for the door, gesturing for Pyro to follow. They had to pick up the pace. 

_“I have the Children of War with me.”_ Pyro said. They were trailing Dell out into the expanse of the pocket dimension that he had built his workshop in. Outside the workshop was an endless green field with a golden sky. All very simplistic, but with an air of beauty in it all.

And outside on the grass sat Tavish and Jane, the brother war gods. Jane was embroiled in a passionate retelling to Tavish of a small civil war he had caused. Tavish was exceedingly drunk and barely listening, as usual.

Dell had to shout to make himself heard over Jane’s yelling,

“Fellas? Sorry to interrupt! _But we gotta leave!_ ” 

“Aye, hello, Dell!” Tavish slurred once Jane went silent, “We were waiting fer ya.” 

Dell heard Pyro pipe up behind him.

_“We should stop standing around. Everyone else is waiting.”_

“What’s Pyro mutterin’ about?” Tavish garbled, “Can never understand a word the lad is saying…”

“They… they ain’t sayin’ anythin’.” Dell brushed him off and kept walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey you reached the end of the chapter. Nice. I got something here for you:
> 
> I've compiled a [list of songs](https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLv2fJAmy2JknK1t88TpJl0z-xCjiMS7Pt) (not mine!) that I think match the feel of this story. Enjoy! You can even listen to it while reading!
> 
> Cheers and see you next time!
> 
> ~Hyper


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